


Use Your Words

by ItsJustALittleRain (MortalCyn)



Series: It Started Out With A Kiss [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Arguing, Castiel/Dean Winchester Tension, Desire, Explicit Language, Innuendo, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Castiel, Rough Kissing, Saving People Hunting Things, Sexual Metaphors, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalCyn/pseuds/ItsJustALittleRain
Summary: Dean gets injured while on a solo hunt, much to Castiel's disapproval. When the argument ends in a stalemate, Castiel decides to do whatever it takes to get his point across.





	Use Your Words

**Author's Note:**

> The second story in the It Started Out With A Kiss series, depicting the formation of a relationship between Dean and Castiel. Takes place a few weeks after the events of Honey.
> 
>  
> 
> Not beta read, so if you see something, please let me know. Once again, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Dean felt like he had gone twelve rounds in a prize fight for no prize. He threw his duffle bag on the floor, not caring how it landed. He tossed the Impala keys onto the small wooden desk in the corner. He shrugged out of his jacket as he crossed the motel room, dropping it behind him onto the bed, and walked over to the dresser, staring at his reflection in the cheap mirror. He wasn’t surprised to see that he looked exactly how he felt. Although the first wendigo had been easy enough to kill, the other two had literally left their mark on him.

Five jagged cuts shredded through the front of his shirt, the formerly heather gray fabric now soaked in dark maroon. The claw marks from the second wendigo had barely clotted and were still itching like mad. He could smell it even now, his clothes forever tainted by the stench of monster barbecue. He didn’t miss the irony in that he had cut it a little too close tonight and almost ended up on the menu himself.

More troubling still was the aching circle of ragged puncture marks on the top of his shoulder where the third wendigo had managed to bite him. The back of his knuckles were badly bruised from the punches he’d laid into its bony head as he fumbled to light the flare with his other hand. He could see now that he had even burned himself a bit while jamming the lit flare between the creature’s open jaws. His head was still ringing from the roar it unleashed directly into his ear as he set it on fire. Still, the sight of its skull burning up from the inside out was one for the books. He’d definitely have a cool story to tell Sam when he saw him tomorrow.

He’d already given Sam a quick phone call on the drive back to the motel, just to let him know that the situation had been handled. There would be no more wendigo snacking on joggers along the mountain trail. _Crisis averted, thank you very much._ Sam didn’t need to know that Dean had actually suspected from the beginning that there was more than one working over this particular stretch of land, and still taken the job alone. Sometimes he just needed to do things by himself to clear his head. Now his phone was in silent mode and all he wanted to do was rest. 

When Castiel appeared standing directly behind him in the mirror, it was all Dean could do not to jump out of his skin.

“Jesus Cas!” Dean yelled. He turned around in a hurry, his heart pounding. “You scared the hell out of me!” He slapped his hand down on the top of the dresser. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

“What happened to you?” Castiel asked, his brows furrowed with concern as he ignored the outburst. His eyes roamed over Dean, taking in the various injuries. 

“Hunting,” Dean replied, fighting to get his frazzled nerves back under control. He ran a hand through his hair. “Cas, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Sam prayed to me,” Castiel explained, still regarding Dean with growing unease. “He felt that I should check on you.”

Dean groaned inwardly. _Dammit Sam, you mother hen._ “He shouldn’t have called you. It’s not that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Castiel motioned for Dean to remove his shirt. “Let me see.”

Dean frowned. _Yeah, that’s not gonna happen._ “Hell no. I said I’m fine.”

“Dean,” Castiel warned. “I need to inspect the wounds. Believe me when I say that it is of the utmost importance.”

“No,” Dean repeated, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Castiel gave Dean a look of infuriating patience. It was the sort of stare that let the hunter know in no uncertain terms that the angel would wait all night long if he had to, there was no use in resisting.

Dean sighed finally, peeled off the tattered bloody remains of what had once been a favorite shirt and threw it on the floor. As he stood there in his jeans and boots, he hoped that the nervous energy racing through him was not visible in his face. Subconsciously he knew that this shouldn’t bother him. Cas had put him back together once, he was sure the angel had already seen him with his shirt off and more, but he couldn’t shake this unfamiliar sense of shyness. He found himself feeling oddly self-conscious and wondered if maybe he should cut back on the fast food, try to be more like Sam.

Castiel’s eyes widened as he assessed the full extent of the damages. “How did this happen? What were you hunting?” He stepped in to get a better look.

“Wendigo,” Dean mumbled. _Does he have to stand so close?_

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “One wendigo did this to you?”

Dean averted his eyes. “Three.”

“Three?!” Castiel asked, incredulous. “Dean, why were you hunting three wendigo by yourself?”

“I thought there was just the one,” Dean lied, shrugging. “I didn’t see the point in hauling Sam all the way out to the boonies for one damn wendigo. How was I supposed to know it had company?”

Castiel stared silently at Dean for a long moment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean muttered, feeling strangely warm. _Where the hell is the damn thermostat?_ “Like I said, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch,” Castiel said drily. “I’ve seen the bodies of Christians thrown to lions with less severe claw marks than these. And yet they are still nowhere near as distressing to me as the bite wound on your shoulder.” He reached out a hand. “Here, let me—”

Dean leaned away, his pulse speeding up. “Cas no.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to heal every little bump and scrape I get. It comes with the territory.” He gave Cas what he hoped was a cavalier grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, chicks dig the scars.”

Castiel looked unimpressed. “I am actually less concerned with the scarring and more concerned with the damage to your central nervous system.”

Dean blinked. “My what?”

Castiel sighed and walked over to the bed. “Dean, in all of your years of hunting, have you ever met anyone who was bitten by a wendigo and lived to tell the tale?” He beckoned for Dean to follow him.

Dean approached hesitantly, not at all sure where Cas was going with this line of questioning. “I don’t know. That’s not really the sort of thing you brag about. Getting mauled on the job doesn’t look all that good.” He considered. “In my defense, I was outnumbered. But no, none of the hunters that I know of ever got chomped by a wendigo, or if they did they kept it to themselves.”

“Or they became wendigo themselves,” Castiel replied, gesturing for Dean to sit down.

Dean blinked again. “Say what?” He settled nervously on the edge of the bed. “Are you serious? How is that even possible?”

Castiel stepped in close, his eyes carefully assessing Dean’s shoulder wound. “In their own miraculous way the wendigo have evolved perfectly to hunt their chosen food source. For an abomination of nature, it’s really quite remarkable.”

“In what way?” Dean asked, even though he knew that he was not going to like the answer. His interest in what Cas was saying had temporarily distracted him from the fact that Cas was standing so close to him. As soon as he felt an impossibly warm hand on his bare shoulder, Dean’s anxiety returned. _Jesus… Just keep talking._ “How are they remarkable?” 

“Well,” Castiel continued. “They consume a steady diet of raw human flesh. As a result their mouths are rife with toxins. The purpose of the bite is to weaken you, making it easier for them to catch you if you get away. But even if you did somehow manage to escape…” Castiel trailed off, turning Dean’s head to the side.

“What?” Dean asked, trying not to get caught up in the grip of Cas’ hand on his chin. _Does he have to be so hands-on about it? And why does it have to be on the bed?! We couldn’t have done this standing up?!_ He shuddered as a bolt of electric heat shot through his shoulder.

Castiel gently released Dean’s face and stared into his eyes. “Eventually you would wake up one day and find yourself with an unbearable hunger for your fellow man.” He knelt down and placed his palm on top of the claw marks across Dean’s chest. 

_Well this isn’t awkward at all._ Dean sucked in a breath. _Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird. Don’t make it weird._ “You don’t say.” This time he was better prepared and didn’t move much as the warmth spread over his skin. He didn’t know why he was having such a hard time with this. Cas had treated his past injuries hundreds of times, yet this felt different somehow. He wondered if he would be struggling like this if Sam were here.

Castiel looked up at Dean. “And if you ever succumbed to that hunger, even for a moment…” He shook his head. “You would be forever changed. There is no coming back from that. It is extremely fortunate that I found you tonight.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make Sam a thank you card when I get back,” Dean mumbled, averting his eyes. _Don’t make it weird. Keep talking._ “Where the hell did you learn all this stuff about wendigo anyway? Isn’t that sort of crap way below your pay grade?”

“Crowley,” Castiel replied distastefully, studying the fading lines on Dean’s skin. “During our ill-advised alliance in pursuit of Purgatory, I became quite familiar with many of the creatures that your grandfather captured for interrogation purposes.” He stood up, clearly not wishing to further recount the experience.

Dean blinked in disbelief. “Wait, you actually talked to them?”

“I mostly observed,” Castiel explained quietly. “They were not very good conversationalists.” He stepped back, apparently satisfied with the results of his work. “There. I am now certain that you will not fall victim to any ill effects.”

 _Those other two wendigo were probably joggers that got away._ “Uh, how certain?” Dean asked, rising to his feet. 

Castiel leaned his head to the side. “Are you currently experiencing a deep and singular craving for human flesh?”

“No more than usual,” Dean quipped.

Castiel nodded. “Then I believe you should be fine... _Will_ be fine,” he corrected, noticing the brief look of worry that passed over Dean’s face. He gestured at Dean’s chest. “As per your request, I left your scars visible. I hope they bring you much success.”

“Yeah, me too.” _Aaaaaand now it’s weird._ Dean ran a hand through his hair, suddenly finding it extremely difficult to look directly at Cas. _This night is just too damn much._ He inclined his head toward the front door and cleared his throat. “Not to seem ungrateful, but uh, do you mind? I kind of need a shower after all that.”

“I don’t see why I would mind,” Castiel replied evenly.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “Right. Okay then... I guess I’ll see you around.” Without waiting for an answer he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

He fumbled for the light switch and flipped it up, grimacing as the dim bulbs began to emit their meager light. _Why do the worst motel bathrooms always have the same ugly ass mint green tiles…_ He stood for a moment in front of the mirror, peering at himself in the streaky glass and absently wondering what had been on Cas’ mind when he was curing him of the toxins. _Probably nothing,_ he thought before kicking off his boots and socks.

Stripping out of his jeans and briefs, he stepped into the absurdly narrow shower, turning the water as hot as it would go. The rough spray from the cheap showerhead felt brutally efficient, as though it were sloughing away all of the painful remnants of his hunt. His aching muscles were beginning to feel soothed by the heat and he finally felt at ease enough to allow his mind to wander. To say that he had been thrown off balance by Cas’ appearance tonight would be an understatement.

Dean hadn’t seen or spoken to the angel since the night of their drinking party a few weeks ago. He hadn’t told Sam what had happened, and with any luck he would never have to. As it was, he still had a lot of unanswered questions swirling around his mind concerning the events of that evening. If he were completely honest with himself, that was likely how he had ended up in his current predicament. Hunting was pure, it was all-consuming. It didn’t allow any moments for quiet self-reflection on why he had felt that making a drunken pass at his best friend was a good idea at the time. There were no opportunities to ruminate on the sting of rejection from being unceremoniously turned down.

It had clearly been a fluke, a one-time lapse in judgment brought on by an overabundance of good whiskey. _That’ll never happen again._ Dean turned his face upward, grimacing a bit at the hardness of the water. He couldn’t deny that it had been pretty nice, but then again he was drunk at the time, so who could say whether it actually had been or not. He rubbed his hands over his face. _Not to mention, Cas hasn’t said anything about it, so clearly it must not have made much of an impression on him. Best to just chalk it up to a drunken mistake. No reason to keep dwelling on it. What’s done is done._

Dean turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, reaching for one of the white towels hanging on the metal wall rack. It was thin as all hell, completely lacking in softness, but thankfully clean. He dried off unceremoniously, being careful not to agitate the freshly closed wounds across his chest and shoulder. _Guess I’ll call Cas tomorrow and actually thank him. Right now I just wanna sleep for like a week._ His towel fixed around his hips, he opened the door and walked back into the bedroom.

Castiel was standing exactly in the same spot, his back now politely turned to Dean. 

Dean recoiled instinctively. _What the hell!?_ He felt suddenly very aware of his state of near nakedness and glanced around anxiously for his bag, almost forgetting that he’d tossed it on the floor as soon as he got in the room. _Alright, its fine. He’s not even looking at me. He clearly doesn’t give a fuck. Don’t be weird about it._ With forced casualness he walked past Cas and retrieved it. “Why are you still here?”

Castiel stared at the tacky striped wallpaper as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. “Your story didn’t make sense.”

Dean immediately glanced up from digging through his clothes. “What are you talking about?”

Castiel sighed, still looking at the wall. “Dean. I know you. You are impulsive, stubborn, and incredibly closed-off, but you are never careless. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you did not know about the additional wendigo beforehand?”

Dean grabbed a comfortably worn pair of lounging pants out of the duffle. “Actually Cas, I don’t care what you believe, just so long as you go away. I’d like to squeeze in a few hours of shut eye before I have to drive back. So don’t let the door hit you in the feathers on the way out.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his pants.

“Dean,” Castiel warned.

“Cas,” Dean said, mimicking the angel’s tone. He fished the plastic bag containing his toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bottom of the duffle bag.

Castiel finally turned around and faced Dean. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Dean replied. He stood up, carrying the damp towel and plastic bag back into the bathroom. “Get lost.” He turned the faucet on and readied his toothbrush. _He’s like a damn dog with a bone._ He began to brush his teeth, trying to ignore the fact that he could still hear Cas shuffling around out there.

“I’m not leaving until you explain yourself.”

 _Right._ Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t answer to you Cas,” he called around a mouthful of toothpaste. “I’m not one of your little Stepford angels.”

“My what?”

“You know what I mean. Your clones,” Dean said. He spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth with the metallic tasting water. _Yikes. I would’ve been better off brushing them in the shower._

“They are not my clones. It is not possible to clone an angel. Our molecular structure—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, coming back into the bedroom. “I don’t care. My point is that I don’t have to explain shit to you. You may be the boss of Heaven, but you’re not the boss of me.” He pointed to the door. “Now do me a favor, and take it upstairs already, so I can sleep.”

Castiel gave Dean a long searching look. “This is far higher than your usual level of defensiveness. What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Dean shot back. “You’re just paranoid.”

Castiel continued to stare at Dean, scrutinizing.

Dean bristled. “What the hell are you doing?” _Is he reading my mind? Oh shit, can he do that now?!_ “Cas! You’d better not be trying to read my mind!”

“I am not reading your mind Dean,” Castiel replied. “I am reading your body language. Your posture, your minor increase in temperature, change in heart rate and the look in your eyes are all telling me the same thing. You are lying.” His eyes narrowed. “You knew there was more than one wendigo here, and you failed to mention that fact to Sam. You wanted to do this hunt alone.”

“You’re full of crap, you know that?” Dean huffed, moving past Cas.

Castiel ignored Dean’s response. “What I don’t know is the reasoning behind it. Why would you insist upon putting yourself in harm’s way? You’re smarter than that Dean.” He shook his head. “Why on earth didn’t you bring Sam?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jesus Cas, I don’t need a babysitter! I can handle myself.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t,” Dean ordered. He pointed a finger. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it. Just shut up.”

Castiel fixed Dean with a withering stare.

After several moments of incredibly tense silence, Dean started to think he would rather be lectured than glared at. At least he could argue with words. There was no way to argue with those unearthly blue eyes and the way that they seemed to stare straight through him, right down to his marrow. He suddenly recalled a time once before when Cas had given him this exact look. _Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid._ He didn’t dare say it now.

Castiel sighed finally and shook his head. “All I am saying, is that if you hadn’t called Sam, and if he hadn’t prayed to me, this night could’ve ended very badly for you. You could’ve died. Or worse, you could’ve become one of the creatures that you hunt.”

“Been there, done that,” Dean retorted. “Look, I’ve been hunting my entire life. Sometimes things go wrong, and I get banged up a bit, but I always get out fine. And I still would’ve gotten out fine tonight, even if you hadn’t hustled your feathery ass down here.” He threw his hands up. “And believe me, I would’ve gotten the shit fixed before I would’ve ever started eating people! Don’t you think I have any self-control?”

“It’s not your lack of self-control that vexes me,” Castiel remarked. “It’s your lack of self-preservation.”

Dean rolled his eyes. _Christ, will he ever shut up?!_ “You know what Cas? I don’t even remember asking for your damn help in the first damn place, so sorry if I _vex_ you, but maybe if you had just minded your own damn business—”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Dean continued, “—Instead of showing up uninvited, trying to _save me,_ you wouldn’t have had to take time out of your busy day of doing whatever the hell it is that you do all damn day.”

Castiel rolled his eyes heavenward and uttered a rapid-fire stream of Enochian.

Dean bristled again. “Don’t subtweet me, Cas. If you’re gonna talk shit, be man enough to talk shit so I can understand.”

Castiel glared at Dean. “I said, Heaven please grant me patience, because if you grant me strength, I will surely beat this man to death.” He let out an irritated sigh. “But that might be what you want. Your insufferable deathwish fulfilled at last.”

Dean resisted the temptation to just put an end to the discussion by taking a swing. He knew that such an action couldn’t possibly work out in his favor, but at least it would stop all this arguing back and forth which was getting him nowhere closer to sleep. _It’s like talking to a goddamn brick wall of self-righteousness!_ “Yeah, sure Cas. I actually wanted to get myself eaten alive by a fucking wendigo! Because that’s my idea of a good time.” He shook his head and walked past Cas. _Fuck it. Maybe if I open the door I can shoo him out like a moth._ “Don’t be an idiot.”

“The only idiot in this room right now is you!” Castiel snapped, finally losing his composure. “Even if you seem hell-bent on meeting a violent end, some of us do give a damn whether you live or die, Dean! And you know that Sam would be in agreement with me if he were here!”

Dean turned back around, his face incredulous. “Seriously?! You’re really gonna pull that crap? Try to long distance tag-team me? Go fuck yourself, Cas! Don’t you have better shit to do than follow me around all the damn time? Who died and made you my guardian, anyway?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and began to glow. The blue of his irises disappeared in a brilliant white light.

Dean winced. _Uh oh. I must’ve struck a nerve with that one._ He swallowed nervously. _Don’t show any fear. They can probably smell fear. Stand your ground._ He squared his shoulders, aiming for an effectively stern face. “Cut it out, Cas! I know you’re not going to smite me, so just cool it with the theatrics!”

Castiel silently strode forward, the air in the room crackling with electricity.

 _Nope, fuck this. Time to go._ Dean groped behind himself for the door knob, before belatedly realizing that his car keys weren’t even within reach. _Oh shit…_ Cas was directly in his face now, his hands reaching menacingly towards Dean’s shoulders. “Dammit, Cas! Violence isn’t how adults settle arguments, alright! Use your words—” Dean’s rushed attempt at peace-making was cut off abruptly by the crush of lips against his own.

Castiel pressed his mouth to Dean’s, pinning the hunter back against the door. He could sense the complete shock, the sudden stiffening of his body, a tremendous wave of relief, and then a fresh burst of anxiety as the hunter’s brain finally began to process what was happening.

Dean thought he had been prepared for anything Cas could throw at him, but there was no way to prepare for this. Strong hands held him firmly in place, as soft lips moved sensuously against his own, and a warm tongue skillfully explored his mouth. His brain was in shock, still stuck in survival mode, endorphins flowing like mad. The contrast between the cold door against his back and the warm form against his chest was dizzying. His body was confused, relieved, and excited all at once. It was terrifying. It was magical. It was the best fucking thing he had felt in years. He groaned low in his throat.

In response, Castiel raised one hand to the back of Dean’s head and twined the fingers into his still slightly damp hair, as he continued to savor the taste of his mouth. His fury had melted away entirely, the burning anger inside of him evolving into something far more dangerous. There was a time when he never would’ve dared to lay a hand on Dean in this way no matter the circumstance, but since the hunter had crossed the line first, albeit while filled with almost three bottles of whiskey, Castiel thought that this was fair recompense. He placed his other hand on Dean’s jaw line, tracing the tiny bristles of stubble beneath his fingertips.

Dean could sense the air pressure in the room changing, the crackling electricity replaced by a sort of humming sensation that sank into his body and made his knees feel weak. Heat was pooling in the pit of his stomach, tingles coursing through his fingers and toes as he leaned more fully into the kiss. Without thinking about it, he raised his hands to Cas’ upper back, pulling him in closer. His brain was still highly confused, but his body had no reservations whatsoever about the event in progress. He could even feel the stirrings of an erection as his instincts finally decided that he was right about the nature of Cas’ glare earlier, he might actually be getting laid tonight. 

Abruptly Castiel stepped back, dropping his hands from Dean and easily breaking free of his grasp. His eyes had returned to their normal shade, placidly blue as a calm sea.

Dean started to chase his lips, but managed to stop himself in time, his breathing heavy. A dull ache had begun between his legs, the frustration at being suddenly shut down by Cas yet again making itself known. He stared at Cas incredulously. _What the fuck was that!?_

“Sorry,” Castiel murmured, glancing down. “I guess you’ll just have to find some other way to impress the women you pursue.” His eyes flashed. “Although, something tells me you won’t have much of a problem.”

Dean followed his gaze and saw that the wendigo scars on his chest had vanished entirely. He tentatively raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling for any trace of the bite mark, only to realize that it was gone as well. _Damn Cas…_ He quickly dropped his hand from his shoulder to down below his waist, belatedly realizing that the worn fabric was not doing much to hide his state of mind. _I guess the cat’s out of the bag now._ “Um Cas, listen, I uh—”

“You asked me,” Castiel interrupted, “who it was that died and appointed me as your guardian. I did. I have died for you far more than I would’ve liked… And yet I still take it upon myself to watch over you. I will _always_ watch over you.” He sighed. “So I would appreciate it if you could at least try to be more careful on your hunts in the future,” he said, his gaze perfectly nonchalant as though he hadn’t just pulled Dean apart into a mess of hormones and frustration.

Dean blinked and swallowed hard. “Wait, so that thing just now… You just gonna act like that ain’t happen?!” He waved his hand in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidd—” He groaned at the familiar flap of wings which signaled Castiel making his exit. The room was already empty. “Son of a bitch!” He stood there alone, glowering pointlessly at the space where the angel had been. And there it was, the smell of the air after a thunderstorm. He knew he’d never be able fall asleep here now. _Fuck this._

Dean snatched his duffle bag off the bed and dug out a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt. _Fuck this fucking shit._ He was tired, pissed off, confused, and horny as hell, but he would rather make the long drive back to the bunker than spend the night alone in this room. He shook his head as he dressed in a haphazard rush. _It's not like he's so special. They probably all smell like that._

He muttered some half-assed excuse as he handed the room key back to the motel clerk, and quickly made his way to the Impala, wanting to put as much space between himself and the scene of the crime as possible. _What the hell was that anyway,_ Dean wondered as he started the car. _Payback?_ If so, it wasn’t fair. His little drunken smooch was nothing compared to the lip lock that Cas had laid on him tonight. Dean considered himself to be a pro when it came to things like this, even if Sam thought his methods of acquiring experience were distasteful, but now he found himself at a complete loss. Cas had shocked the confidence clean out of him. All of his talent, his skills, his learned techniques had failed him. In the end he was left wanting more, and this was a real problem, because he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

____

____

Sam glanced up from his laptop screen just as Dean came down the bunker stairs. “You got back a lot sooner than I thought you would. You told me you were going to spend the night at the motel. Did everything go alright?”

Dean nodded briskly. “Yeah, no thanks to the wendigo. Thought it was one, turned out to be three. Cas showed up and saved my bacon. Anyway, I’ve been driving for like eight hours. I just want to go to bed and sleep for a week.” He yawned. “Let’s save the questions for tomorrow, okay Sammy?” He kept walking towards the hallway without waiting for a response.

Sam started to protest, thought better of it, and then nodded. “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll get the details from Cas when he comes in.”

Dean stopped and turned around. “He’s not here. He left right after.”

Sam looked surprised. “Really? He let you drive back by yourself with no sleep?” His brows furrowed. “What happened? Did you guys have a fight or something?”

 _Or something._ Dean grimaced. “No questions, remember? I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Goodnight.” He walked away.

Sam scoffed. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Dean.”

“Good day then,” Dean called back, not bothering to turn around. 

The journey down the hall felt like a marathon. His limbs seemed to grow heavier with every step, and he wished he could just drop where he stood and stay there until someone found him and dragged him to bed. When he at long last made it into his room, he kicked his boots off and flopped down unceremoniously onto the mattress, still fully clothed. The last thing he remembered before he drifted off was the feel of fingers in his hair and the smell of rain. _I am well and truly fucked,_ Dean thought as sleep claimed him.


End file.
